


Rebirthday

by clightlee



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Post-Plague, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23603080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clightlee/pseuds/clightlee
Summary: Asra teaches the apprentice to dance.
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	Rebirthday

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a suggestion from @justfortuna!

It was on the two-year anniversary of Bellamy’s rebirth that Asra mustered the courage to teach her to dance.

He slid back into the shop with some trepidation, a quiet rebirthday feast tucked under his cloak. Faust dropped immediately onto his shoulders from a rafter, a settling comfort; his tension was palpable.

It had been months- five - since Bellamy’s last coma had lifted. Her speech and movements were almost seamlessly balanced with her pre-plague bearing _. _ She’d begun accompanying him out into the market, wearing a heavy cloak and a light cloaking spell to discourage gawkers.

_ Didn’t that one die a martyr to the plague? _

_ Wasn’t she sent to the Lazaret to tend the dying? _

_ When the magician disappeared, she stayed. And then she disappeared too. _

_ I swear I saw her locking up the shop, bandaged head to toe, right when things were getting desperate. _

Asra climbed the stairs, preparing a casual smile for his face and pushing the idle gossip he’d overheard from his mind. You’d think that the survivors would have better things to do than cast aspersions, but even cataclysm left some things unchanged.

“Asra!”

The sound of his name on her lips never ceased to splash a genuine smile across his face. It had been the first word she’d recalled on her own; he hadn’t thought to teach it to her, so wrapped up was he in pantomiming “hungry” and “hurt” and “headache” in those first few desperate months. Between her catatonic darknesses, brought on by too much, too soon, some words were taught, and stuck, and others returned unbidden. His name had returned unbidden, after the first word she’d mastered herself (“thank-you”).

Asra slid his cloak and gifts onto a table as one and crossed the room to wrap his arms around Bellamy’s shoulders. She was seated before the fire, bottom lip caught under her teeth as she wove copper and silver threads into one of the inspiration charms the shop was always selling out of. A spread of her fingers stilled the undulating threads and she leaned back into his embrace, eyes fluttering shut.

This Bellamy was quieter, more peaceful. As if she’d awoken assured of her path. As if she’d left the audacity and hunger of her former self behind in the ashes. Or as if that part of her had yet to wake. 

“They're beautiful,” he whispered, laying a kiss on her cheek.

“Watch!” She resumed the elaborate dance with her fingers, and the inspiration charm rose out of her lap to begin its dance. Her magic took hold, braiding the strands into their oscillating knot. Asra watched, patiently mesmerized, until with a final flick of her wrists the ends of the strands joined in a hot, white glow. Bellamy fell back with a tired huff and the charm clinked to the floor, complete. 

“Inspiring indeed,” Asra grinned, and then rose to put distance between himself and his Bellamy. Sometimes he thought that the white-hot longing he felt would leave burns on her arms. If he wasn’t cautious enough it would join them together, like the ends of the charmed copper strands, in an all-consuming fire that left nothing but destruction in its wake. How could he ever convey to her that mere years ago they’d been that perfect circle: companions, partners, lovers, opposite sides of the same coin? That when they were together their auras and eyes shone twice as bright? She knew nothing of their years together, knew nothing of days and nights locked together. The fire that haunted him was nothing compared to the cleansing flames of the Lazaret; whatever they’d shared had been burned away on her end. It would be unfair to force that bond, to act as if nothing between them had changed.

Or maybe, like her burning ambition before the plague, the fire just had yet to rise. But the red plague had already caused him to abuse hearts and burn bridges enough. He wouldn’t let her heart, one he’d given so much of himself to restore, be one more casualty.

“I have a present for you,” Asra called from across the room. He slid a hand under his cloak and pulled out the gifts: pumpkin bread. Elderflower cordial. And a golden box the size of his palm.

Bellamy rose- gracefully, he noted, without the automaton-like jerks that had plagued her for the first year of her new life- and padded over to the table. A blush was already spreading across her cheeks. 

“What’s the- - occasion?” she asked, quite pleased to have conjured the correct word so swiftly.

“Just because,” he lied with an ease that was becoming uncomfortable. Bellamy still thought that her birthday fell in the last flash of summer. It was now full autumn’s sharpness, the time of her rebirth. Best keep that disparity secret.

Bellamy was already finding a knife and board to slice the bread. Asra watched her for a moment before starting to move the furniture away from the center of the room.

She looked up in confusion. “A night picnic, then?”

Asra smiled. “Not yet. I had an idea. Remember the Hallow’s Night festival last year?”

Bellamy squinched up her nose and knit her brows, trying to remember. Her mind was so frothing full of new words and facts and experiences that even recalling a year ago sometimes caused her head to ache. But it was getting easier; in a moment her face cleared and she rose onto her toes with a joy that swept Asra back through the years.

“I do! There was a kapelye band from Kranassos and...dancing!” Her sigh heartened his resolve to make tonight the night. He could tell that, behind closed eyes, she was reliving the swirl of music and movement and color. Asra touched the golden box lightly, and felt the gears inside whirr to life as the tiny organ inside began to play.

Bellamy’s eyes flew open, wide as saucers. “It’s amazing!” she cried, already swaying in time to the heartbeat rhythm.

Asra steeled himself with a wave of cooling magic before bending a courtly bow. “May I have this dance?”

Bellamy laughed in disbelief, almost bashful. “I don’t know how!”

_ Now or never.  _ “I’ll teach you,” Asra said softly, sweeping her into his arms. He gently placed one of her hands on his shoulder and interlaced his fingers with the other. Never mind that Bellamy had always preferred to lead; never mind that, when first they met, it was she teaching him the simple quickstep to match the kapelye beat. Her feet automatically followed his through the repeating, syncopated count and her eyes met his with a sudden gravity. 

“What?” Asra asked, mind already spinning a thousand different ways. “Does your head hurt? Are you...”

Bellamy’s brows knit, but she was smiling beneath. “I think… I think I’m remembering.” She managed a saucyish wink. “I’ve done this before! I know it!”

“Oh?” Nothing had come this quickly back to her. Not language, or empathy, or shame, none of the things that defined the previous life of Bellamy Grey. 

The music held onto a parting note for an endless second before launching into a racing scherzo. Bellamy didn’t miss a beat. The dance swirled on.

They were both beaming now, and flushed. “You’re a natural,” Asra grinned.

“Must be! How else could I do this?” With only a minor fumble Bellamy switched leads and swept Asra around into a deep dip. Her arms were as strong as they ever were.

Asra was laughing, head thrown back, iridescent hair almost touching the floor. “Have you been stringing me along, love?” he asked.

Bellamy pulled him back upright. Their fingers interlaced but they’d stopped dancing. The music box was winding down. And just like that, the fog of forgetting was rolling into her eyes. Asra wanted to stop time, to ask this laughing, dancing Bellamy if she missed him like he missed her. But stopping time was outside of his abilities, at least for now.

“That was...” she trailed off, grasping for the right word. A word that years ago would have come unbidden.

Asra enfolded her in his arms, tucking her head to his shoulder so she wouldn’t look over and see the shine of his eyes. How he missed her. 


End file.
